There could be no greater contrast than between the red clay of Roland Garros and Wimbledon's green lawns. Although it seemed no more than a blink of the eye since Roger Federer trudged dejectedly off the Philippe Chatrier court two weeks ago having lost the French Open final to the Spaniard Rafael Nadal, he reappeared on his favourite Centre Court yesterday as if surrounded by an ethereal luminescence.

To some degree the world No1 had purged himself of his Parisian disappointments - among them the dream of holding all four grand slam titles at the same time - in Halle last week when he won the tournament for a fourth successive year, stretching his unbeaten run on grass to 41 matches and equalling Bjorn Borg's record. Now he began life afresh, ready for the next quest, a fourth straight Wimbledon title.

He entered, to the warmest of applause, wearing a specially designed cream jacket that included a crest encompassing three rackets, a Swiss cross, a tuft of grass, his Leo star sign, and an F. It was carefully hung over a chair and at 1.09pm play began, just as it was scheduled, but already rain-filled clouds were moving with ominous stealth from across the city. And so began an opening day of immense frustration.

As a junior Federer was so nervous when playing at Wimbledon that he quaked on the baseline and could barely serve. And once a professional the intimidation of the All England Club scarcely eased and he was beaten in the first round three times between 1999 and 2002. Then, in 2003 he won the title, and has not lost since.

This is not to say the nerves do not still kick in, especially in the opening week. Facing him yesterday was the 20-year-old Frenchman Richard Gasquet, who last September was a career high No12. Since then an elbow injury and abdominal troubles have seen him drop like a stone, although last week, for the second successive year, he won in Nottingham.

Federer was only too aware that here was a wolf in sheep's clothing in terms of the rankings. The Frenchman beat him last year on clay in Monte Carlo and recently pushed him to three sets in Halle. "Sometimes he reminds me of me," said Federer, who if he saw a mirror image again yesterday seemed determined to smash it, bad luck or no.

He began and ended the first set with an ace and in between conjured up shots of sumptuous power and placement. It was not total perfection: Federer growled at himself when he missed a forehand and Gasquet, having lost his opening service game, might have broken back if he had hit the ball anywhere other than straight at the Swiss who volleyed an instant winner.

A wonderful Federer backhand down the line, skimming the highest part of the net, drew a gasp of wonderment and the Centre Court was settling itself in for a masterclass when play was suspended at 6-3, 1-2, never to restart. Thirty-five minutes and the day was done. No amount of make-over, make-up or make believe could avert this annual outbreak of rain over SW19 and clearly, if the water authorities really wish to fill their depleted reservoirs, they should arrange with the All England Club for the Championships to be extended over the months of June, July, and August.

Pipes of the draining variety might just as well have replaced the cream piping on the new Ralph Lauren blazers, worn by the lines persons - not so much a tournament aping the English country garden, as one reflecting soggy summer holidays at the seaside. This year, alas, the umbrella clutching hordes were deprived of the sepulchral tones of the former chief executive Chris Gorringe, whose promises of "windows of opportunity" amid the cloud layers were treasured the length and breadth of Wimbledon's 19 courts.

Ian Ritchie, the new boss of grass, took to the microphones at 10am to welcome his staff and then handed over to Christine Tostevin, the assistant to the Championships coordinator, to greet all and sundry as the gates swung open. As for the weather updates, the assistant referee Mike Morrissey stepped forward as the purveyor of gloom.

Nobody, even though a monsoon may be beating the bounds of SW19, is ever allowed to believe that the rains will not stop. Stay and pay is the motto and, although the Championships were desperate to eke out a further 25 minutes' play if at all possible so that refunds would not need to be paid, the food and booze bills had probably covered the £1m deficit when play was abandoned at 7.20pm.